The Doom of Men
by Sirabella
Summary: COMPLETE. After the events of Moria, Aragorn and Legolas look to each other for the answers they so desperately need. Despite my initial disclaimers, it turned out kind of slashy, but nothing at all explicit.
1. Default Chapter

A/N: Normally I write book-verse, because as much as I love the work of Peter Jackson et al. in recreating Middle-Earth, I bow to Tolkien as the supreme authority. In this case, however, I am diving deeply into character analysis, which, I am a little ashamed to admit, is not exactly Tolkien's first priority in his novels. Although I can stick to the books for Gandalf and the hobbits, since they are closer to my heart and I know them almost as well as if I'd created them myself, Aragorn is still somewhat of a stranger to me. So I am throwing in a little movie-verse and a little of what I shall call me-verse, for lack of a better expression-- the difference between me-verse and fanfiction being the alteration for me- verse of expressly detailed events in Tolkien's books, sort of like occasional jolts of mini-AU. So please don't write me a review and say "That doesn't happen in the books!" Thank you.  
  
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, Aragorn, Legolas and the rest of the Fellowship don't belong to me, and neither do any other people, places or things mentioned in this story. Luckily for them, they belong to the marvelous imagination of J.R.R. Tolkien and also to New Line Cinema.  
  
Aragorn stood on the last stair of falling rock, wobbling precariously and clutching desperately onto Frodo's collar. If one of them fell, it was not going to be the Ringbearer, he told himself grimly. 'Hope of Men, my foot,' he thought wryly. The Ring was the absolute, the center of every action that now went forth, and it could not be lost at any price. He had always known that good and evil were two sides of the same coin; he had been taught as much among the Elves. He had always wanted to be the one to pull the ones on the edge to the right side. He had known several of these over the years. The creature Gollum, though disgusting, seemed to him to be important somehow for this reason. Saruman had been on the edge for a long time, he now knew. And what almost no one in the world knew, what only one other solitary being in Middle Earth had any idea of, was that he had been one of these as well, for the shortest possible time it could take for the dangerous thoughts to blossom.  
  
The day he had learned of his heritage was one he never wanted to remember. He had sat shaking in the pouring rain for hours, weeping and screaming to the skies as fury, pain and fear rushed through him. He had desperately wanted to run, either away from or back to Rivendell, and the two warring desires had kept him clinging to the slimy bark of the tree serving as his dubious shelter from the elements. He wanted to be five years old again, running to Elrond's rooms when he was frightened by a storm or a nightmare. This was the most horrifying nightmare he had ever had, and he wanted Elrond desperately but was too afraid to seek him out. After all, he had been the one to tell him, to snatch away his safety, his happiness and everything he knew about himself. Elrond took every responsibility, everything that every day brought in stride, and the boy was afraid of what the stern, reserved lord would say if Estel- no, Aragorn, he told himself with a sob- confessed that he could not be what he was born to become, that it was too big, too much.  
  
His thoughts had turned, then. The words 'evil,' 'Sauron,' 'end,' 'darkness' and 'death' did not even pass through his mind; nothing he considered in these moments was as clear as that. He only knew there must be another option, another side to this danger, this 'problem,' as everyone called it. What if he were already on the winning side? What if he were not the underdog, the one doomed to a certain end? When he had finally returned to the house, Elrond had met him in the hall, concern radiating from his smooth features, but Aragorn had said little and excused himself quickly to retire to his rooms for the night.  
  
The elf lord had spent the night in thought and had decided not to accept such an incomplete explanation. He had sought out his foster son the next morning in his chambers and had found the boy weeping uncontrollably on the floor, the ring of Barahir lying on the carpet beside him. Aragorn in his distress had confessed everything, and the terrified Elrond had talked long with him, alternately explaining, lecturing and soothing him until the world had made sense again.  
  
Over forty years had passed since then, but Aragorn often found himself contemplating those days between childhood and adulthood. As his relationships with those dear to him had grown deeper and more complex, he had learned to care without showing it in every expression of voice or movement. Physical comfort of any kind was rare now; he had savored every casual touch from any member of the fellowship, knowing that their pressed circumstances were responsible and grateful also for this reason that he had been included in the quest to destroy the Ring. The companionship here was strong, made agreeably desperate to Aragorn because of their danger. One in particular was a great comfort to the Ranger now, knowing of Aragorn's balancing act as he wallowed in companionship one moment and loneliness the next, placed in this awkward position by his personal mission.  
  
This one looked up at him now, reaching out his arms in anticipation, steady eyes locked on the Ranger's face. Aragorn almost smiled. He could see the fear in the Elf's eyes, shining across the chasm as clear as day, but Legolas would die before he would show anything but a regal dignity befitting his position among his people, or, failing that, a righteous battle anger. It would have been funny if he hadn't been shooting down through the air on a boulder over a bottomless chasm holding the bearer of the fate of Middle Earth in his tenuous grasp. The rock slammed into the firm stair with incredible force, and Aragorn lost his grip on the hobbit. He could only hope that some other vigilant member of the fellowship had been in a position to catch the small creature flying through the air.  
  
He was not the least bit surprised when a pair of slender, almost crushing arms wrapped around his shoulders, stopping his terrifying flight and planting his feet on solid rock once more. The Elf held him close for an extra second, exhaling in relief, before he put him down and spun to follow the others down the path. Aragorn flew after him, half in an effort to avoid any arrows or flaming demons, half in frustration over the lack of opportunity to thank his friend. He knew there was really no need; they were here for each other, and everyone was supposed to save everyone else; that was how it worked. But Legolas had been so happy to have brought him to safety in one piece; he could tell. The Elf had practically smothered him in his relief.  
  
The next moments passed him by in a blur, and it was not until Gandalf's fingers slipped from the rock and his light was lost to Aragorn's disbelieving eyes that he snapped back to reality. His feet flew over stone, arrows flew over his head, and finally he was out in the open air. He closed his eyes and tried to process the grief, but Gandalf could not die for him. He had always been there; as a child he had heard all manner of tales in the Hall of Fire about Mithrandir and his great deeds, and as he had traveled with the old wizard all over Middle Earth, he had seen the wizard for himself. Not merely his greatness, either. Gandalf was sometimes very human, an amazing feat when one had walked the earth for many hundreds of years. His wisdom and power sometimes played second fiddle to his peaceful disposition and simple good humor.  
  
Aragorn felt tears coming to his eyes and hurriedly opened them to divert his mind before they fell. He sorrowfully looked over the other members of the fellowship. The hobbits were weeping on the ground. He quickly looked away to Boromir, standing bent in grief; he too had known Gandalf from childhood. Gimli was raging to the heavens, anger being the typical vent for grief among the dwarves. And Legolas... Aragorn gasped quietly at the look in his friend's eyes. Pain and loss were there, certainly, but that was not what struck his heart so. Legolas was looking around with panicked movements, a total lack of comprehension marking every line of his body and filling his eyes. He did not understand... he did not know what it meant that Gandalf was dead. Aragorn saw that the Elf was fighting the urge to search for the wizard, unable to realize that he could not be retrieved. He swallowed painfully and returned his attention to the hobbits, still laid low by grief and shock. "Legolas..." He had to get the Elf's attention. Somehow he had to get the Prince back. "Get them up." Legolas snapped to attention as Aragorn had hoped, clinging to the familiarity of orders and danger.  
  
Soon enough they had reached the borders of Lothlorien, and Aragorn felt both relieved and uneasy at the idea of the leisure that would follow. He needed to talk to Legolas, but he was afraid of what their shared grief might pull from his heart. He was afraid to share his deepest fear, but he flinched at the memory of that heartbreaking confusion in the Elf's eyes and took courage and strength from the shining leaves and cool sanctuary of the Golden Wood. 


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks, everyone, for the incredibly sweet reviews! I hope you like this chapter; I almost cried myself. I don't know whether this is the end or not; I tend to update rather infrequently, waiting for inspiration to kick in. We'll see if a continuation suggests itself. If you like Gandalf or Pippin or both, I'd like to stick in a shameless plug for my story (also still incomplete, but not abandoned) "As Close as Ever." Thank you very much for reading.  
  
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, Aragorn, Legolas and the rest of the Fellowship don't belong to me, and neither do any other people, places or things mentioned in this story. Luckily for them, they belong to the marvelous imagination of J.R.R. Tolkien and also to New Line Cinema.  
  
'Elves,' thought Aragorn hopelessly. 'Shun them and they surround you by the thousands. Seek out the company of one and he is nowhere to be found.' He had been looking for Legolas for what seemed like an age of the world. He had no intention, however, of searching every tree in Lothlorien, so he relied on his instincts, a practice that had always served him well. He stopped short in the shadow of a mallorn when he saw that a few more steps would lead him into Galadriel's garden. What hidden power dwelt there, he did not know; he had never seen it. But he suddenly knew without a doubt that Legolas was there. Concern for the prince swept away his nearly implacable dread, and he stepped slowly into the hidden sanctuary.  
  
Legolas was bent over a stone basin, muscles rigid and intent on the swirling contents. Aragorn believed that Legolas could hear him, although his steps were what humans would call soundless on the soft carpet of leaves. He was loath to interrupt, but he stepped closer, determined to glimpse the Elf's face before he did anything drastic. Legolas spoke suddenly, and Aragorn froze, one foot in front of the other.  
  
"I do not understand," he whispered painfully. "The fair folk of Thranduil's wood must soon pass to the Havens. The trees I loved are but an illusion, only a taste of my true home. What Elf would risk the peace of Valinor for a future that is not his to share? Lady, why am I here? Where dwells Mithrandir?"  
  
Aragorn almost spoke, but Legolas sighed suddenly, seeming to have found an answer from the thought of the Lady. Before Aragorn could return to the shadow of the trees, the Elf turned and saw him. Mortal and immortal regarded each other silently, until Aragorn spoke, hurt clouding his every word.  
  
"You need not have come. If the call of the sea is what you desire to follow, I would not deny you. You are right; this need not be your struggle. I have been selfish," he finished quietly.  
  
To his annoyance, Legolas laughed, the sound drifting through his mind like bright music. "You, my friend? I do not think so. You are many things, Dúnadan, but 'selfish' is decidedly absent from their number. A trifle misguided, perhaps. I am no pet or piece of baggage that you have dragged along on your quest, my friend. Lord Elrond sent me, yes. But do you believe that I, who from infancy have had my every wish fulfilled, who have been pampered and catered to by a doting father and king, would have come if I had not wished it?"  
  
Aragorn caught the amused sparkle in Legolas' eye and found himself laughing as well. He then sobered quickly when he returned his thought to the prince's torturous words spoken in what he now knew had been perceived by the Elf to be solitude. "Do you feel a debt to me, Legolas? Is that why you are here?"  
  
Legolas stared at him for a moment, the Elvish version of surprise written across his features, then approached him carefully until each filled the other's entire range of vision. "Surely more than honor and duty lies between us, Aragorn? I am here... I do not rightly know the reason, but it is enough to know that I am here."  
  
Aragorn smiled sadly. "He is gone, Legolas. That is the answer you seek. His spirit is out of our reach forever."  
  
Legolas paled, all trace of humor or warmth having vanished from his exquisite features. "Gone?" he stuttered, searching Aragorn's eyes desperately. "How?"  
  
"It is worse when the body remains," Aragorn explained patiently, placing a hand on each of the Elf's trembling shoulders. "It is hard to say farewell, then. My mother..." He stopped then, knowing it was unnecessary to say any more. Gilraen did not belong here, in this garden of fading glory, a testament to the coming darkness. She was darkness now, and he could not find her anywhere; he was not ready to search for her on this particular journey.  
  
"What happens to an Elf?" Legolas asked suddenly, deeming that the time for drifting in the past had elapsed. His eyes pleaded with Aragorn to make a different answer than the one he knew was coming.  
  
"They also pass out of this world. I do not know how they fare then. I am mortal," he reminded Legolas gently.  
  
Legolas looked down for a minute, then raising his head suddenly, said with a determined frown: "I do not wish to die."  
  
Aragorn nearly wept at this, but with a substantial effort managed to say quite steadily: "No more does anyone. It is not pleasant to leave all that we love behind and pass into the unknown."  
  
Legolas considered this, then asked with the frankness of a child: "Do you fear your death?"  
  
"I fear a death where something yet remains for me to accomplish," said Aragorn truthfully. "I fear a death alone in the wilds, with no face dear to me to fill my sight before I am swept away. I fear a quiet, meaningless death."  
  
"You fear death without Arwen," said Legolas knowledgably. To his surprise, Aragorn flinched and turned away. Realizing what was passing in his friend's mind, he spoke with authority. "Aragorn, it is not selfish to desire happiness in love. It is not selfish to accept any great gift freely given. You are already proving yourself worthy of her."  
  
"I do not wish to lead her to her doom!" he shouted angrily, spinning around to face the Elf once more. "If I could I would undertake this task alone. She will die for me; any member of this Fellowship could do the same, and I cannot bear it! I have never wanted this..." He froze in horror, realizing that his secret had slipped its way to the surface of their discourse without his realizing it. He decided that it would be foolish to avoid a topic he had come to discuss, so he endeavored to continue. "I... I have lived in fear of precisely this situation since- for a very long time, Legolas. I feel guilty for craving companionship. I do not deserve so many sacrifices, especially Arwen's. You cannot tell me that it is a privilege to be the last hope of my race. I need other hope. I thought once, long ago, I might seek it somehow with..." He trailed off here, ashamed beyond words. What had been so easily released in Elrond's embrace, a stronghold of understanding and matching despair, was fighting its induction into words. He did not want Legolas to be ashamed of him, or worse, to hate him for his weakness and folly.  
  
The Elf understood perfectly, however, and the dark flush of barely controlled anger crept slowly up his pale cheeks. Aragorn merely hung his head. "Look at me, Estel." Aragorn flinched and raised his eyes to the flashing blue ones pinning him to the spot. Legolas only called him that when he meant not to be trifled with. Suddenly the force of the Elf's anger vanished, and Aragorn almost stumbled with the lightening of the air. He saw only pure, naked fear in his friend's eyes, and he trembled with guilt when he heard the Elf whisper: "You would not seek him, Aragorn, you would not..."  
  
"Only Elrond knows," Aragorn said desperately. "Please, I was only a boy..." He suddenly felt his own anger rise, and it frightened him. "Have you ever been given a connection to a figure out of legend, Legolas? Have you ever had your entire identity ripped away from you in an instant, only to have it replaced with something you cannot possibly fulfill? Have you ever been told that the fate of your entire people hangs on you alone? My heritage weighs heavily on me even now. It is nothing short of cruel to bestow that on one so young that he has built himself a dream of his life to come, never knowing that just beyond the borders of his illusion lives constant persecution and hatred."  
  
He turned away then, certain of the tears threatening to spill over, but a gentle hand landed on his shoulder and spun him around into a close, desperate embrace. They were both silent for a moment, each drawing strength from the other, until Legolas spoke. "You have just shown me my reason," he said firmly. Aragorn pulled back in surprise, finding a look of fierce determination and seriousness in the Elf's eyes. "I swear to you, Elessar, Hope of the Dúnedain, that I will keep you to your purpose. As long as you draw breath, my friend, I will keep you from darkness. Your star shall not fail."  
  
Aragorn could find no words. No other had ever considered anything of the sort. Elrond understood, and Aragorn's tears were his tears, but he stood firmly apart from Aragorn's destiny and always had. If Celebrian had not sailed, perhaps things would have been different. Perhaps Elrond would have been more willing to fight the war of Men a second time. But he had always known, ever since that day, that he would have to walk his path alone. But Legolas had sworn to him that he would never again be so alone, that their fates would be one... "Thank you," he said softly, grasping the Elf's hand in his. "Thank you so much." 


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Warning: I changed my mind about where this is going. I am afraid there might be a little bit of romance thrown in here after all, but only time will tell how much. Just so you know to stop here, if you want to keep as much space between Aragorn and Legolas in fanfiction as there is in the real story. And yes, things will happen in this story. The overflow of talk is setup stuff. Just so you hang in there and don't give up :)  
  
Aragorn could not see. All the world was black, no grace nor sign of sunlight broke the suffocating darkness. He seemed to be short of breath, underwater for all he knew, yet there was no hint of impending death. It was very much like some of the black nights in Rivendell, the one year in a thousand when Elrond grieved and Imladris was a tunnel of fear and pain, no star to be seen. The Elves would wilt at the flat, featureless skyline of night, although they walked along placidly enough in the windy dusk of day. Aragorn, knowing he was not welcome within during these times, would sit outside his lord's chamber door, listening, making no effort to stem the tide of tears at the bitter words spoken within the chamber to supposed solitude. It was a grief he could not understand; the abandonment of love seemed to him unthinkable, for any cost. That Elrond's wife could have gone away seemed to him no more than foggy imagination. He himself could not imagine leaving Rivendell even on pain of death; his home was sacred to him, no family more dear than the Elves who dwelt here, save his mother. It hurt him unconscionably to know that Elrond feared nothing more than the betrayal of love, and that betrayal was unavoidably channeled through mortality. Aragorn knew that had he been an Elf and Elrond's son of his blood, there would have been no door between them.  
  
At this point, the dream conjured up an image of Arwen's face, so radiant in her gown of evening, so dear that he wept to look her in the eyes. There was a sadness in her face, and a resignation, but there was still a small sliver of hope glowing there. He watched it until it faded from sight and her voice sounded in the depths of his memory. She spoke of love, but it made his heart ache. Elrond would not love him, could not love him; he would never let Aragorn take his only daughter from him. His princess could not be Aragorn's queen. There was no hope...  
  
"Aragorn!" A voice was pulling Arwen away from him, she was fading, receding into the distance of time and memory... "Please...mellon nin...awake..." Someone was shaking him. He sat bolt upright, breathing hard. An Elven face was staring into his. He jumped as the dream savagely reasserted itself for a moment, then he fell back and realized who was watching him. "Legolas... you frightened me." Legolas looked crestfallen for a moment. "I am sorry. But I cannot have given you so much cause for fear as you did me just now. What is this terror, my friend, that causes you to weep when you dream of it?" Aragorn stared. "What are you talking about?" he asked warily. For answer, Legolas sadly reached up and brushed a hand over Aragorn's cheek. His fingers came away wet, and Aragorn realized that he had indeed been crying as he slept. His eyes still on Legolas' shining fingers, he raised his own to his face and quickly swept away the remaining traces of his tears. The Elf was still waiting patiently for an answer, sitting cross-legged in front of him on the ground. The fire had died down to embers, and Gimli's snores echoed across the rocky terrain. Aragorn swiftly shifted his gaze to the smouldering flame and kept it there. He began slowly and very reluctantly.  
  
"I dreamt of Rivendell. When I was a child, there were days... you do not live in a land ruled by an Elven ring, so you would not have seen, but there were times when Elrond would- crack, I suppose. He is like a boulder; wind may blow and water may crash upon it, but nothing happens. Come the winter chill, and ice causes a single crack which destroys the rock from within. He would lock himself in his room; Imladris was a fearful place during these times. I suppose he does it still, only now there are no more children to sit outside his chamber door and share his grief." Aragorn blinked quickly, for as his voice broke on the last words, Legolas moved closer and laid a hand softly on his shoulder. The Elf watched him carefully for a few moments, then he spoke. "In spite of what you may think, he does love you, Aragorn."  
  
Aragorn laughed bitterly. "Love me? What is love to an Elf, Legolas? Surely it cannot be the same thing as it is among humans. Elrond loved me when it suited him. I was there to pet and protect when the twins were off hunting Orcs and Arwen was exiled to Lothlorien- because of me, I might add, or rather, what the Elven Ringbearers feared of me. I was the only one who knew nothing of him, and that was the way he wanted it. He wanted to know what my favorite foods were, who my friends were, what sort of weaponry I admired, what I loved, what I feared... but he would tell nothing. I was an outsider to every joy, every grief... I was a stranger. Because I am mortal."  
  
"Mortality is not a disease, Aragorn," retorted the Elf firmly. The remark about Elven faithlessness had ruffled him. "Elrond was simply afraid. He looked Sauron in the eye, shed no tears when Gil-galad fell, carried on without open grief when Celebrian left, but he could not allow himself to love another mortal. But in this he failed, my friend. Elrond is wise, but he is not immune to love. No Elf is, whatever you may believe. There is no choice. I saw his soul in his eyes that day, the day we began the Quest. His heart was breaking. If love means anything, you will not lose either of them, not to darkness."  
  
As Legolas talked, Aragorn moved to his knees and dropped his head so that it rested on his friend's shoulder. He was too weary to hold himself upright any longer, and Legolas, feeling the discomfort of bone on bone, reached over and pulled Aragorn downwards, so that his friend's head was resting gently in his lap. Aragorn was too tired to fight this strange arrangement, and so he made little protest when Legolas pulled his own blanket as well as Aragorn's over the man's prostrate form. Aragorn smiled and whispered sleepily: "Thank you. As long as you are here, I shall not worry about anything sleep brings, whether it be bad dreams or bad weather. Will you not sleep?"  
  
"I must watch, Aragorn, for enemies and for friends, tonight. You will be safe, I stake my life on it."  
  
Aragorn looked sadly up into the Elf's eyes, so full of fierce trust and determination. "Someday, Legolas, you will fail me. The day of my death will dawn, and you will have no choice but to leave me to my fate. You will sail and leave me to rot."  
  
A flash of pain sliced through Legolas' gaze, then he spoke in a trembling voice: "As I said, I stake my life on yours. Your death will be mine. There are other ways of dying than to fall by the weapon of a foe."  
  
"Why do you do this?" Aragorn asked softly.  
  
"I made the same promise twice," said Legolas after a slight pause. "When we spoke in the Lady's sanctuary... I had a similar discussion with Arwen the night before we left Rivendell. I swore to ease your troubles in any way I could, to protect you, save you if I could from any harm. I do not take such a burden lightly."  
  
The word 'burden' triggered something in Aragorn, and the Elf's words stabbed at his heart for no reason that he could fathom. He was silent, until he understood. "Why did you make such a promise, if I am such a 'burden' that you are loath to keep it?"  
  
Legolas' eyes met his suddenly in shock. "I did not mean..." Aragorn felt a twinge of guilt, but something in him was not appeased by the Elf's pain. He needed to know why Legolas was doing this, why anyone would do this...  
  
"I am not your problem. Elrond is my foster-father, he raised me... I am his problem, I suppose. I am to wed the Princess Arwen Evenstar: she is my hope, I am her problem. What is your claim to my custody?"  
  
Legolas said nothing, but a single tear slid down his pale cheek, and his hands trembled as he slowly rose, making Aragorn as comfortable as possible on the hard ground. "Nothing you would deem significant," he whispered painfully. Something in his tone made Aragorn look up, and a flash of something in the Elf's eyes caught his own before Legolas stood and walked quickly to a rock on the other side of Gimli to keep watch. Aragorn rolled over and watched him, feeling nothing but a jumble that he was unwilling to sort out just then... he was so tired, and Legolas was so difficult. He tried to sleep, but sleep would not come. Legolas was so kind, so generous. He had promised to stand by Aragorn, and he had kept that promise; Aragorn did not doubt that he would always keep it. And such a friend as this he had caused to weep, over his own insecurities... Aragorn stood quickly and joined Legolas on the flat rock where his friend was keeping watch.  
  
The Elf's posture stiffened in surprise, but he said nothing, continuing to watch the stars above his head. Aragorn sighed. "Will you not look at me, Legolas? Truly I am very sorry. I don't know why I said that."  
  
"Yes, you do," said Legolas flatly, still not turning his head. "You said it because you do not understand sacrifice, not truly. You understand what it is to sacrifice time, goods, even friends, for a goal and a purpose, but you do not understand what it is to give yourself for another, and so Arwen, among others, mystifies you. She is willing to give her immortality, her identity, really, for your common happiness. When will it make you happy, Aragorn, to give something you dearly prize for the good of another?"  
  
Aragorn did not know what to say. "When I am King, I suppose," he said slowly. "A king must give much of himself for the good of his people. And a husband must give much for his wife's happiness. Arwen shall have her reward, you need not fear otherwise. That it is in many ways more bitter than she deserves, I am deeply sorry, but I cannot thwart her right to choose any more than Elrond can. And truthfully, I am happy that she loves me so much, even if I do not understand in my heart why all this should be so."  
  
Legolas turned to him finally, an intent expression on his face. "Do you not? Can you not see how easy it is to-" He stopped himself rapidly, and Aragorn stared as a faint blush stained the pale cheeks.  
  
"What..." But suddenly Aragorn did not need to finish the question. Everything was all too plain, and he turned away in dismay. "No, it is not true," he said in a pleading voice. "I have caused you too much pain already..."  
  
Legolas pulled himself together proudly. "It is all right, Aragorn," he said with an air of closing a subject against further discussion. "Nothing has changed. Please, let me do this for you. Let me keep my promise."  
  
"No," said Aragorn firmly. When Legolas snapped his head around to protest, Aragorn elaborated. "It is too much. You must ask for something in return."  
  
"To never be parted from you," said Legolas immediately. "Never send me from your side when you are in danger. You fight for Arwen, and she waits for you. Let me keep you safe when you cannot do it alone."  
  
"Granted," said Aragorn reluctantly, "but that is too easy. I do not wish to die, of course, if you can save me. Ask for something that is hard to give."  
  
Legolas thought for a moment, and finally his head came up and his eyes were shining with tears. "Let me be the last to see your face," said Legolas, so softly that Aragorn had to strain to hear him. "When your spirit is weak, on some grey day in the South, when you must leave your body behind on a funeral pyre, send Arwen and all others from you at the very last, and let me give you to death. I could not bear it otherwise."  
  
Aragorn could not hold back his own tears at this, and he bent forward so that their foreheads touched. "I promise," he whispered. "Neither could I bear it otherwise."  
  
They sat, unmoving, brows bent together in silent communion, until sunrise. Aragorn slept eventually, and Legolas wept, still keeping one eye out for a watch on the silent horizon. The real quest had begun. 


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Sorry, I lied. There isn't much more to this story than Aragorn/Legolas. I was trying to think of a plot but it was no good. The two of them are their own plot. And yes, I know this is lame for an update that took at least a couple of months, but I had not forgotten this or either of my other unfinished stories.  
  
Aragorn woke, groaning at the stiffness in every muscle. The sun's rays glinted on something, blinding him. He squinted to find a lock of golden hair in his eyes... he narrowed them in remembrance. He had fallen asleep here, on the rock, and Legolas held him. He pulled away gently. Legolas had finally slept, not long, by the looks of it, and not intentionally, either. Aragorn smiled; this was definitely not a position an Elf would have chosen for sleeping. Legolas' head was bent low upon his chest, having slipped just then from Aragorn's shoulder, and the Elf's hair for once was in complete disarray. He would be embarrassed to find Aragorn here upon waking. Aragorn lowered his friend to the ground and, as Legolas had done for him the night before, pulled both blankets over him. He sat close, keeping watch. They would have to set forth again in an hour, at most; the Uruks could not gain any more ground, or Merry and Pippin would be lost. He cast occasional glances at the Elf's slumbering face. The blank, staring eyes were very disconcerting. He had grown used to it, in most cases, but it was too like death to ever leave him completely unaffected where Legolas was concerned.  
  
Many things about Legolas affected him differently. The wise eyes that were channels from his soul, the steel of his jaw when danger drew near, the proud toss of his shining head that told his enemy that turning around was the safer course... Aragorn saw it all and loved him. As a friend. As a brother. He lowered his head into his hands. A touch on his arm made him look up. Legolas was sitting up, worry etched in every line of his face and in the depths of his eyes.  
  
"What is it? Is it not time to resume our hunt?"  
  
Aragorn spoke in the steadiest voice he could muster. "Yes, it is almost time. I... was only thinking."  
  
"Tell me."  
  
"If we cannot catch them... what shall we do?"  
  
"We will find the right path," was the only reply.  
  
"Legolas..." Aragorn looked up and partook of Legolas' courage. He felt immediately guilty for using him in this way. "I am sorry-"  
  
"We will speak no more of this," said Legolas sharply. "We shall only proceed. I must wake the Dwarf. We are three hunters, are we not?"  
  
"Yes," said Aragorn shortly. "Three."  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
Aragorn winced ruefully as a sharp rock rolled away from underneath his boot. This terrain was not conducive to long chases. He risked a quick glance behind him as he ran; Legolas was not far behind and Gimli, although wheezing as loudly as he thought necessary to prove his point, was keeping up tolerably well. If they could only maintain this pace for several more hours, they could take a brief rest before continuing on. He might tell Gimli... in a little while. Aragorn grinned to himself. The Dwarf was not a little resentful of the ruthless manner in which Aragorn led them on, and on, and on... Aragorn would never admit it, but he was entirely sick of this chase, too. He might have spent approximately one second in doubt about whether to keep going if it had been anyone else... He had failed Gandalf and Boromir; he had to keep intact what was left of this fellowship. Frodo and Sam were beyond his help now, but one Elf, one Dwarf and two little hobbits needed him, and he would never fail any of them if he could help it.  
  
A sudden exclamation behind him caused him to stop dead, resulting in something warm and solid crashing into his back and throwing him to the ground. "Aragorn!" came the Elf's patented tone of annoyance and slight amusement, rising up from somewhere in the vicinity of his left elbow. "'I see them!' does not mean 'halt two inches from my nose!'"  
  
Aragorn looked up to see Gimli standing several feet away, completely dissolved in helpless laughter. He gave a wry grin at the disgruntled Elf who had now halfway managed to wriggle out from under him. "Sorry," he said simply. "I heard nothing but a strangled yell."  
  
"Human ears," said Legolas disdainfully, but he was smiling. Under Aragorn's steady gaze, his eyes had assumed a soft expression, and his face shone as he offered the ranger a hand up. "If you continue in this fashion, my friend, Gimli and I shall require chain mail armor at all times to keep our poor bones from falling victim to your escapades."  
  
"If you believe you could keep this pace in such armor, then you have my blessing," said Aragorn, laughing.  
  
Gimli sobered quickly. "Then it is a choice between bodily injury and complete exhaustion," he said with a grunt. "I don't suppose there is a third option?"  
  
"One," said Aragorn mischievously. "Tell the Elf to watch where he's going." Legolas huffed and smacked Aragorn on the chest, but Aragorn caught his hand and, turning quickly so Gimli couldn't see, kissed it quickly. "If neither of you is injured," he continued, ignoring Legolas' stricken expression, "we should resume our chase. Perhaps Legolas would run beside me and in that way we might avoid future collisions." Legolas gave a brief nod, and they all turned and began to run once more. In unison the two began to outdistance Gimli, and once they were out of his hearing range, Legolas turned his head slightly towards the ranger.  
  
"Why?" he asked simply.  
  
"Because I wanted to," Aragorn replied just as simply.  
  
"I think that a poor excuse," Legolas answered, the anger rising quickly in tandem with the beats of his heart as they ran.  
  
"Legolas," Aragorn pleaded, trying to catch the Elf's gaze as they ran in perfect unison. "You don't understand. There is no time. We do not have the luxury of these games."  
  
"Games?" said Legolas furiously, remembering just in time to lower his voice enough to escape the Dwarf's hearing. "Do you think I am playing games? Was I not plain enough? I want nothing of the sort from you but what you have already given, to the Evenstar of my own people. I desire neither your guilt nor your pity."  
  
Aragorn was speechless for a while, and they simply continued on their journey, Gimli offering up a shouted curse every once in a while. "You would refuse my comfort? If I give it freely, without regret or restraint?"  
  
"Think what you're saying, Aragorn!" snapped Legolas immediately. "Surely you cannot believe I would have your body when refused your heart? No Elf would do such a thing. You have lived too long among humans and wallowed in their odious customs."  
  
"Our glory may be diminished but we have not forgotten who we are and who we will be again," said Aragorn, shaking with fury. "I only offer you some peace in your spirit though I am unable to give you all. What is odious in that?"  
  
"Your assumption that I should desire such a thing," said Legolas flatly. "That it would bring me pleasure, not increased pain."  
  
"Your pain is not your own," said Aragorn desperately. "It twists in my own heart like a dagger. I cannot simply know of it and do nothing to ease it, or I shall know nothing ibut/i pain. What if one of us is killed? It is possible that we have only days remaining. We should find some comfort in each other while we can."  
  
Legolas looked at him sympathetically. "I shall be comforted merely to be near you and see you alive and well," he said softly, "and if you are in need of me, to keep you so."  
  
"But I am not well, and nor are you," Aragorn said finally. "And though I will no longer argue the point if you are not willing, I will hope for the day when you will not refuse me." Each smiled at the other at the complete reversal of the situation, but neither had anything more to say on the subject.  
  
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*  
  
Aragorn rolled restlessly over in his bedroll; he was cold and despairing, and worst of all, lonely. But oddly enough, Arwen was not in his thoughts, although she was not far away. He played the day's events over in his mind; he had restrained himself with that kiss to the Elf's hand. If Gimli had not been there, and if they were not on an urgent mission... who knows what might have occurred. But had it been out of desire or out of dissatisfaction with the situation as it stood? He shot a glance over at the Elf's distant figure; he was sitting cross-legged on a rock keeping watch, his golden hair luminous in the moonlight. Warmth spread throughout his body at the sight. Yes, he desired Legolas. He had no idea when it had begun. But the fact was that even through his love and worshipping adoration for Arwen, this Elf had an irresistible pull on him, and he needed to touch him; lying here looking was no longer enough. He groaned and rolled over.  
  
Legolas heard the sound and sought Aragorn's huddled figure, concern furrowing his brow. He looked like he slept, but his uneven breathing suggested otherwise. Legolas shrugged; it was the Dwarf's watch, anyhow; he had only continued on out of a desire to give his friend some extra rest. He woke a grumbling Gimli and made his way over to Aragorn's bedroll, deciding to save them both some embarrassment by pretending he thought the ranger was asleep. He lay down beside him and pulled the lean, strong body to him, wrapping his arms around Aragorn's shoulders.  
  
Aragorn sought to keep his breathing regular. Legolas' arms encircled him lovingly, and he wanted nothing more than to turn in his embrace and find their faces only inches apart. But he was unsure. The vision of Arwen was still there, her beautiful face, the love and support in her eyes, her wisdom, her agelessness; but then again, all these were present in Legolas, and ihe/i was here, holding him. He turned and found the Elf's bright eyes watching him guardedly.  
  
The End. If you want to know what happens next, use your imagination; I know you have one. 


End file.
